Six Feet Under (Mad Love Duet Book 1)

by Whitney Barbetti

  “It’s not a scam. It’s a puppy.”

  “Christ!” I fisted my hands in my hair and knew I was giving him my best, I am fucking freaking out face.

  “That’s not her name, unless you decide to change it.”

  “Don’t tell me you named her already,” I groaned.

  “Why not? You named your fish.”

  I guess he had a point. “I don’t want a dog.”

  “You think you don’t, because you’ve never had one.”

  “Six,” I pleaded. “I can’t have a dog.”

  “Yes, you can.” He stood and came to me, hands closing around my fists, stilling me. “It’ll be good for you, Mira. I know you’ve been so busy with the people you’ve been helping. But it’s getting cold, and you’re going to run out of hobbies.”

  “A puppy is not a hobby.”

  “No. And it’s not a human, either.”

  “Why did you get me a puppy, Six,” I moaned and tried to pull my hands from his.

  The box made a squealing yip and I tipped my head back until it hit the wall. “I can’t take care of a puppy.”

  “Have you tried?”

  “No! And that’s why I can’t take care of one.”

  “Not a single person can say they’ve taken care of a puppy until they do it for the first time. So here you go, you got your first chance at being a dog mom.”

  “I’m good at being a fish mom,” I protested.

  “No you’re not. How many have you killed?”

  “Exactly! And now you’re giving me a dog. A dog, Six. A dog that needs a lot more than ten inches of countertop and a few flakes of food a day.”

  “You’re right. The dog is going to need food and water daily—a couple times a day in fact. And a dog is going to need air and walks and a schedule and it’s going to be a giant inconvenience for you. You can ignore Henry, but you won’t be able to ignore a dog.”

  “Why, Six?”

  “Because I want you to be loved unconditionally. I want you to love something, someone…” When I raised an eyebrow, he added, “else. That dog is going to need love, most of all, the kind of love only you can give. And she’s gonna love you back, even when you don’t think you deserve it. But you do.” He brushed my hair back. “Open the box. Say hi to your new friend.”

  I was trembling, one slip away from becoming a pile of rubble. I eyed the box suspiciously but made no move to open it.

  “I don’t need a new friend.”

  “You don’t, but I want you to have one. You’ve never had a dog, and I think having a dog will benefit you—and maybe even help some of the women you temporarily adopt.”

  He’d hit a nerve. “How can a dog help them?”

  “They use dogs for emotional support. Hospice centers use them, too.” His arms wrapped around me and helped the trembling calm for a bit. “But mostly, I want you to see what it’s like, to love someone else. To be responsible for more than a fish. To see if this helps you take care of yourself, too.”

  He calmed me some, but I was still a mess of nerves. A dog was a big responsibility, one I wasn’t sure I could adequately handle. But Six was steering me from the wall back to the couch, pushing the box against my leg and lifting the lid before I could protest any further.

  A black ball of fluff wiggled around, lifting its head and locking eyes with me.

  “Is this a dog or a bear?”

  “It’s a dog. A really round one, right now. She’ll look more dog like as she gets a little bit bigger.”

  I remained unconvinced. She looked like a bear. Tentatively, I reached in until I was touching her. So soft, her fur a mix of coarse and silk. Eagerly, the fluff ball moved inside the box until she was pressing her cold, wet snout against my hand, rubbing into me with a need to be touched, held.

  “She’s pushy.”

  “You would know.”

  I gave Six a look. “What am I supposed to do with a dog, Six?” I asked, exasperated, despite the puppy’s desperate licks on my hand.

  He reached in, picked up the puppy, and held her up for me. “Love her. That’s it.”

  I rolled my eyes. “That’s not it.” But I took her from him, let her settle on my lap, fully expecting her to jump off my leg and start eating my couch. But she just moved in circles on my lap, her stumpy tail wagging so hard that it shook the entire back half of her body.

  She was cute, I reluctantly admitted to myself. I pressed my hand against her coat, watched my fingers sink into all that fuzz until they disappeared.

  “What kind is it?” I asked him.

  “Canine.”

  “No fucking shit. I mean, the breed.”

  He ran a hand over her and looked at me. “It’s a Newfie.”

  I scrunched up my nose. “What the hell kind of dog is that?”

  “Newfoundland.”

  I didn’t have any reference about breeds, but it sounded safe enough. “How big is she going to get?”

  “Not very.”

  “Okay.” Slowly, I was warming up to the idea. And it wasn’t because I particularly wanted a dog, but because this dog was curled up in a ball on my lap, sighing deeply like she was put out somehow, even though I hadn’t forced her to stay on my lap. I petted her over and over as I contemplated what the hell I was going to do with a dog.

  “What’s her name?” I asked Six.

  He picked up the collar and showed me the shiny nametag.

  “Griffin?” I asked, reading it.

  “Yes. Like the mythical creature. Part lion, part eagle.”

  “Why Griffin?”

  “Because.” He smiled. “You’re a mythical creature too, I think.”

  “Oh, right. Ursula.” Griffin rolled to her side, exposing her paws to me. “These don’t even look like they belong to such a tiny thing,” I said, showing him the pads of her feet.

  “Do you like her name?”

  “I think she looks more bear than lion, but I guess Griffin is better than the name I would’ve gone with.”

  “And what name would that be?”

  “Scam.”

  “Oh.” He nodded. “Right. Owning a dog is a scam.”

  “Exactly.” I rubbed my hand over her coat, hating that I was alreay becoming attached to her. “So, how is this gift also for you?”

  “A number of reasons, but the one I’m willing to tell you right now is that it gives me some comfort knowing that if or when I’m gone, you’re not completely alone.”

  “I can take care of myself,” I told him, though neither of us fully believed that.

  “That may be true,” he said, very diplomatically, “but you don’t have to. I think she’ll be a great companion for you.”

  While Griffin snoozed on my lap, Six looped the collar around her neck. “Looks good on her.”

  “I can’t believe you got me a dog.” I hated that I was already becoming attached to her. But unlike Brooke and my mother and everyone else, the only way this dog was leaving me was if I didn’t leash her. “Did you include a leash?”

  “It’s at the bottom of the box.”

  “Okay.”

  He tipped his head to the side. “It’s okay?”

  I waited a long moment before finally agreeing. “It’s okay.”

  26

  June 2005

  “You mother fucker,” I muttered as I walked Griffin uphill at half-past noon. A woman walking by turned to me, her eyes wide. “Not you,” I sniped and shook Griffin’s leash. My expletive wasn’t directed at Griffin either.

  It was directed at Six, who, conveniently for him, wasn’t present at the moment.

  “That bastard,” I muttered and tugged on the leash to lead Griffin down a different street than before. “‘Not very big’ my ass. She takes up half my bed already, without even trying.”

  Griffin sauntered past a fire hydrant before doing a double take and going back to sniff the hell out of it. If the hydrant wasn’t attached to the ground, I was positive she’d try to fit it in her beast of a mo
uth and bring it home.

  That tiny ball of fluff had morphed into a dozen colors of black and brown long fur that shed everywhere. And she was also clumsy. Not the cute kind of clumsy, like rolling off a couch on accident. No, Griffin was a mother fucking professional at being clumsy. Her paws were so damn big that every time she stepped outside and tried to move with any speed other than turtle, she tripped over her own self, sending me tumbling down the stairs, leash wrapped around my arm.

  Six thought it would help to enroll her—and therefore me—into a dog training class, but Griffin slept the whole time and learned not a damn thing. Which wouldn’t have been an issue except that she was rapidly outgrowing my apartment.

  He hadn’t lied about me not being able to forget to take care of her—but the fact that he’d been truthful about that gave me little comfort. No, Griffin was pressing her wet nose against my neck every morning, often before the sun was up, and then emitted a high pitched whine until I finally flung off the covers, trotted to my boots by the door, and led her on a walk. And the moment we arrived at the apartment, she was whining again for food. She was the first real pet I’d ever owned—sorry Henry, guess you don’t count—and it surprised me tha she was on such a schedule without me putting her on one.

  “Put her on your schedule,” Six had advised one night, as I lamented my tale of woe that day: waking up at six, walking Griffin for an hour only for her to barely piddle and then make a run for it back to the house—sending me not once, but twice sprawling to my knees in my attempt to keep up with her—to feeding her and then lying down for a nap only for her to lick me to death less than a half hour later. I went through so much dog food that it only made sense to buy the giant bag, the ones I had to break my back carrying up the stairs every week.

  “How the hell do I put her on a schedule when I’m not on one myself,” I’d asked.

  “Perhaps you can start by putting yourself on one, and then have her adjust.”

  So fucking unhelpful. It shocked me that this eight or nine-month-old canine was calling the shots in our relationship. More than once, I’d laid in bed and fallen asleep before midnight—a fact which seemed to please Six.

  “She’s wearing you out. That’s good.”

  He was the worst.

  I shook the leash when Griffin stopped at a tree she was particularly infatuated with. “Are you going to sniff the whole fucking city?” I asked her, but my voice was calm, even. I couldn’t pretend I was tired because even though she got me up before the corner gas station was even open for me to grab a pack of cigarettes, I’d actually fallen asleep at eight the night before.

  Six was gone, of course, which sucked because every night when he came home from his odd jobs, he took Griffin on a long walk—one that tired her out immensely and gave me time to sweep up the mountain of dog fur that collected in the corners of my apartment. But since he was gone, it was my duty to walk her around town until she collapsed the moment we walked through the door.

  Having a dog wasn’t all terrible, though. She kept me company, obeyed me despite failing the training class. She seemed to respect me, even though she was more of the alpha in our relationship than I was. And, mostly, it was nice having someone there in the middle of the night, even if that someone was a shedding, snoring, fluffy lump in my bed.

  Griffin stopped at the next tree and I rolled my eyes as I stared up at the sky, wanting anything other than to be here. The weather was getting nice enough that I could teach some self-defense in the park near my place. I didn’t have a class or anything, but I had enough people I’d met through the Dry Run who humored me with our once-weekly hands-on training. It was very casual, word of mouth, and free—for the moment. Six had given me the idea of doing it, but to get practice in talking to people and instructing them before I ever made it more than a hobby. That man was always looking for ways that I could keep myself busy, but he’d given me the biggest time suck ever the day he brought Griffin to my place.

  He hadn’t been wrong about her, though, regarding how she might help the other women I would come across. She had a calming effect on them, and I supposed it was her dopey face, her tongue lolling out the side of her mouth, that reassured them I wasn’t some con artist looking to scam them. I hardly ever did that anymore, anyway.

  Six still paid for my apartment, even though I barely helped him now. Mostly, I ran errands. Delivering packages or picking up books or sitting on a park bench outside of a pay-by-the-hour hotel. It wasn’t the excitement of before, but I think we were both a little burned still from what had happened the day I’d stolen the rolex from one of his targets. He paid my rent, put money into my account, and I tried to pretend like it wasn’t a big deal—but it was really starting to bother me. I know he was financially helping Cora/Andra, and with me as an add-on, I knew it must be stretching him a little thin.

  Not that he ever said anything or made me believe this. For all I knew, Six slept on stacks of twenties when I wasn’t with him. But, more than once I’d talked myself into considering moving in with him.

  The dog was part of it, sure. But the practicality of our finances, and the fact that he was always gone with me babysitting his place anyway, I toyed with the thought of moving in with him more than once. A lot, in fact.

  After all, he had a bigger place. Maybe I could use his courtyard to practice self-defense with others. Or maybe Griffin could use the courtyard as a place to run around without needing walks all the fucking time. Maybe, even, Griffin would eat his annoying neighbor’s dog. The upsides were endless.

  I pulled out my phone, wanting to text him: Okay, you manipulative mother fucker. You got your wish—let’s cohabitate. Live in sin, as the kids say.

  But something caught my attention acoss the street from the tree Griffin was pressing her snout against.

  San Francisco was a major city. It was a complete accident that I’d ended up here. But, at the same time, it wasn’t a complete accident. Because I’d had the address in my head for a while. I must have just found myself coming to this place, unconsciously.

  Her frizzy hair was held back by a colorful bandana—a style born from function rather than style. But it suited her, making her look like she’d stepped out of a catalogue from the seventies. On her hip was a baby big enough to probably be a toddler. The baby’s hair was dark, a million springy curls that decorated her head as uniformly as the grass on a chia pet.

  I stepped into the street to get a better look, still shadowed by the tree Griffin was now gnawing on. Brooke’s voice reached me, lively and bright—just like the way she appeared. Gone were the dark circles she wore as permanent as a tattoo under her eyes. Her cheeks were pink, her pale skin completely blemish free. It was like looking at an entirely different woman.

  She stooped in the front yard, which was really just a postage stamp sized chunk of grass and deposited the cherubic toddler right beside a pile of primary colored blocks.

  I glanced at the house, which was small but still charming somehow. And then I crossed the street, tugging a reluctant Griffin behind me.

  It wasn’t a busy area, judging by the fact that I’d played blind Frogger and hadn’t been hit by a car. It was quiet, quaint, the kind of place you’d expect to raise kids.

  Brooke hadn’t noticed me yet. She wiped her hands on her jean shorts and tugged down on the black tank she wore. She was dressed simply—even with the bandana around her head—but she looked…good. Healthy. All the images I’d held of her the last nearly two years collided with this image of a vibrant, striking, healthy-looking young woman.

  In the end, it wasn’t my presence that got Brooke’s attention. The toddler turned, her dark eyes lighting up upon seeing Griffin and her hands doing this thing where she opened and closed her fists, arms outreached. “Dod!” she squealed.

  With a smile on her face, Brooke turned to see what had captured her daughter’s attention. I watched as that smile faded when she looked from Griffin to her owner—me.

  She bli
nked quickly, looked at Norah, and then back at me. What was she thinking? That I was here to kidnap her kid or something? I wasn’t even sure why I had approached—it wasn’t like I expected her to be welcoming.

  “Brooke.” Someone had to be the first one to say something, besides Norah’s repeated gleeful shouting of “Dod! Dod!”

  “Hi Mira,” she said, bending over to swoop her daughter into her arms. Norah looked so sweet—too sweet. Like you’d just bit into a cake only to discover it was all frosting. But maybe that’s how babies were. They didn’t have brains developed enough to have hidden intentions with mouths well versed in deceit. Her sweetness wasn’t surface. It was just who she was.

  It stunned me a little, reconciling that quiet, alert little baby with this more grown up version. She reached her arms persistently out toward Griffin, with Brooke struggling to maintain some kind of hold on her. “Hold on, Norah,” she said, holding her a little tighter.

  “You look healthy,” I said, and then scrunched my face. Was that a thing? It wasn’t like she’d been ill necessarily when I’d known her. But she had been pregnant and recovering from emotional trauma, so I guessed that those things could manifest some kind of malady across her face.

  “You too.” But she didn’t seem to trust it. She glanced at my arms, which were bare and scab-free. It’d been so long since I’d last cut, that I couldn’t remember if it’d been before her or after her. “What are you doing here?”

  “Ah, well, I was—we were—in the neighborhood.” I motioned to Griffin. “And I looked up, there you were.” I kept looking toward Norah, who impatiently tried to shove out of her mom’s hold. I had to raise my voice to speak over the “Dod! Dod!” “Sorry. I didn’t mean to just intrude.”

  But I had, sort of. I’d held onto her address for all this time, not really sure what to do with it. Go figure that my feet would unconsciously lead me here anyway, disregarding any thought I’d wanted to put into my ‘reunion’ with Brooke and Norah.

  “It’s fine. This is yours?”